Life at Les Terraces

Recently friends from home in France visited the Caribbean on a cruise ship and Tortola was one of the ports-of-call on their itinerary.  Graham and I had known for sometime that they were coming, as it had been a topic of conversation over dinner during our last visit to France.  I offered to give them the “local’s Island Tour” rather than their taking one of the ship-organised tours.  This invitation was accepted with alacrity.

Thus it was that Pat & Roy met me at our office at late on a week-day morning.  Things didn’t go completely as planned for a number of reasons, not least of which was the fact that I had just been released from hospital following surgery for acute appendicitis!  However, we set off heading in a clockwise direction around the island.

It is often only when you share your home with visitors that you appreciate the beauty or uniqueness of where you live.  We drove westwards relatively slowly, stopping every so often for a photo opportunity or to facilitate my explaining something.  My plan had been to go over to Frenchmans’ Cay and have a drink there before heading over to the North Shore for lunch.  However,when we pulled into the parking area we found it jam-packed with other cruise ship passengers (frequently the cause of massive irritation for us locals, unless you happen to be a taxi driver).  This necessitated a quick change of plan and we went back onto the Tortola side of Soper’s Hole and stopped at The Jolly Roger for a tourist-free cold drink instead.

Once a small thirst had been quenched we continued on our way around the island, going “off-piste” to follow the un-made road around the very western-most tip of the island.  We made another stop for a photo opportunity and, between the ooohs and aaahs of appreciation, Pat asked me “Why would you want to live in France when you’ve such beauty right here?”  I have to confess that as we looked through lush greenery over stunning blue waters dotted with yachts under sail to emerald-green islands it was a very fair question.

The view that Pat was looking at when she posed her question

As we drove on we discussed the various merits of living here in the BVI, in France or the UK.  I told Pat & Roy that we don’t dislike living here  (if we did then we’d leave).  We love living in the BVI.  The weather is a major factor, of course, but there’s way more to life here than the weather.  We neither one of us could ever return to living in the UK – while it’s where we’re from it certainly isn’t “home”.  It’s nice to visit (so that Graham can get his fish & chips fix, I can have my curry cravings satisfied and we can pick up an industrial-size pot of marmite), but sorry, it isn’t for us!  We appreciate France for the quality and pace of life – the ethos of working to live, as opposed to living to work – and the wonderful, fresh, locally grown food and excellent wine.  And then there’s the novelty, the challenges of the language and endeavouring to integrate and the culture too.

We have very different experiences of sharing Les Terraces with people as, more often than not, we get to share our home with people remotely – we’re here and they are in Sainte Foy La Grande exploring.  If we’re lucky they share with us the experiences that they have, whereas here showing friends around gives us a whole new appreciation of home.  And we get to enjoy the best of both worlds.  How lucky is that????

Oh, I should probably tell you want else went pear-shaped on the day ….. the lunch spot that I had chosen for us was closed (recession, or island-time issues??).  So was my fall-back position (lack of research).  We ended up sitting beach-side in Trellis Bay and the lobster salad that Pat ordered came out as a lobster sandwich instead.  Three strikes and I was clearly out!  However, I think that Pat & Roy enjoyed themselves.  I know I did, and my thanks to them for getting me out of my rut and remembering why we live here in the British Virgin Islands.  We clearly need more guests!

It is 6:30 in the morning here in the BVI and the sun is rising over the hills on the other side of Road Harbour, showing that today is set to be a day of light breezes and clear blue skies.  Not good news for the folks who are racing today, but a blessing for the owner of the motor yacht that last night was moored further down the dock outside the house but is now 100 feet and 90° from where it ought to be and banging its now unprotected starboard side against the end of a dock and other boats.

Suzanne, the lady who takes care of Les Terraces for us, has just emailed me to let me know that a teaspoon is missing from the inventory since the last renters were in the house, and that we’ve a lock that is giving us problems.  She thinks that it is possibly a result of the cold, and hopes to have someone deal with it later.  But right now she is snowed in and thinks that it will be some time before she can get out as a foot of snow fell overnight and it is still snowing!

Ah, now the fun begins.  There are a couple of men down on the dock.  One is the owner of the little boat with the green awning (called a bimini). The other is crew aboard one of the boats that runs days trips for cruise passengers.  They are futilely trying to push 50′ of boat off the dock.  This will be a pantomime and potentially very funny to watch, unless you happen to be the owner of the boat that is.

Well that didn’t last long.  A phone call has been made and the crew man, a Jamaican if his accent is anything to go by, has tied a line from the stern of the boat to the dock to try and stop it hitting another and returned to his work.  I am guessing that he knows who has the keys for the boat and that it will be properly dealt with shortly.

No, I was wrong.  Now the 2 men are rigging another line to hold the bow of the boat off the dock.  There’s really nothing more that can be done until either someone arrives with keys for the boat, or lots more people with a dinghy or two and much more line.  Much as I would like to stay and watch this play out I have some grocery shopping to do.  I expect that by the time I return home it will all be over!

Standing in my kitchen here in the BVI last night it struck me how differently we live in our homes in France & the BVI.  We have a terrace here too.  A roof-top one with a dynamite view of Road Harbour.  There’s always plenty of activity, especially during high season.  The Cruise Ship Dock normally has at least one ship at it.  On busy days there is often a third, and even a fourth, ship anchored off with its tenders running passengers ashore.  There are a number of boats on the dock in front of the house that offer excursions to the cruise ship passengers.  We irreverently term them “the newly-weds, the over-feds and the nearly-deads!”

Weekend mornings and week-day afternoons see school children out in Optimists and Lasers, receiving instruction from the staff of the Royal BVI Yacht Club.  There are often dinghy regattas that take place in the harbour which are fun to watch, particularly if it’s a blustery day.

Pelicans make frequent suicide runs on the schools of fry that swim in the shallows, and little blue night herons perch sharp-eyed in search of their next meal.  The funny thing is that we almost never use this terrace.

Here’s where it gets weird.  As you know at Les Terraces we have not one, but 2 terraces.  They are what gave the house its name.  You’ve seen the view.  It is, for us at least, addictive.  We’re out at all hours of the day and night – watching the world drift by, the planes making their approaches to the small air strip Port Ste-Foy, the fishermen whiling the hours away (escaping their wives??) on both sides of the river, and the teenagers snogging on the benches along the Quai de la Bréche thinking that they do so unseen!

I have to wonder why it is that we use our terraces in France so much more than we do here in the BVI.  Perhaps some of the reason is that it is by stepping onto the terraces in France that we have the best of the views.  Our sitting room here in Tortola has floor-to-ceiling plate glass windows, so the view can be seen without moving.  Another possible factor is that the terrace here is up another flight of stairs, actually above the sitting room and it’s a faff carting plates, glasses, food and wine up there, instead of being able to step straight out onto it.  Weather is certainly an element of influence (no pun intended, of course) – we don’t have any shade cover on the terrace, so it is most often too bright and hot, or it is too windy.  So, with the exception of a couple of days in the year, it is used only for drying the laundry!

One of the things that has always struck me about France is the number of hairdressing salons that exist.  It has lead me to wonder, somewhat irreverently, if the French are the most highly coiffeured race in Europe.  Even 2-horse villages have 2 hairdressers/barbers.  And a “salon de toilettage” for pet grooming too.

As we tear up and down the D936 towards Bergerac and back we pass through the little town of Gardonne, which we have nicknamed “the village of 1,000 hairdressers”.  I don’t know how many there are in Gardonne, but there are at least 3 and a salon de toilettage within 100 yards of each other.  This set me to thinking about how many hairdressing salons & barber shops we have in Sainte-Foy, and I decided that one day I simply had to take an inventory.  I have now done so.

Before I list them it is, perhaps, worth noting that Sainte-Foy is the biggest little town for several kilometers.  We have Castillonne (de la Bataille, of Hundred Years war fame) to our west and Bergerac to our east, each about a 20 minute drive away, and many people come into the town for their routine needs, so it isn’t unreasonable for it to have a lot of facilities.  At least, more than one would expect for a town with a resident population of just 2,750.

So the other morning, while I was waiting for the huge load of linens that I was washing at the launderette to be ready to go into the tumble drier, I walked along rue de la Republique and up-and-down rue Victor Hugo, then along rue Chanzy (back to the launderette) and counted.  Here are the results of my short survey:

13 Hairdressing salons/barber shops.  13!!

5 Florists

5 Butchers/Charcuteries

1 Fishmonger

11 Banks & Insurance agencies

7 Boulangeries

1 Salon de Toilettage

4 Opticians

4 Pharmacies

1 Corsetière

Clearly, I didn’t count every shop in town.  There are plenty of clothes shops, 2 excellent kitchen shops and all of the other facilities that one would expect a thriving small town to have.  I just counted the things that caught my attention that morning.  Next time I’m going to count all of the restaurants.  That will take me a while.  For now I’m going to take a guess.  Are you ready?  OK.  Here goes ………… 20 restaurants and 5 bars.  I’ll let you know how good a guess this was later.

We’ve had a wonderful time here this summer.  There are so many more people with whom we have made connections and we’ve truly enjoyed having a houseful of guests and sharing our new home with them.  However, there is still much that we need to do before we leave, and I don’t think that we’ll accomplish half  of what we’d like to.

I can’t decide what of the last 7 weeks has been the high point for me, as there are so many facets to what comprises happiness.  I’ve loved having a house full of friends and family here.  We’ve juggled schedules, egos and priorities in order ensure that people had enough input and time with us to (hopefully) allow for a good time but leave us with the time that we have needed to keep the project on track.

The house is certainly better for our having been able to use our nearest and dearest as victims for a dummy run.  Some ideas have been adopted immediately, while other suggestions are under consideration.

One of the seriously good aspects of having guests has been the desire to guide friends towards new experiences (for them) and the fun of hearing about those that were discovered without our input and assistance (thereby extending our personal “to do” list with the things that they’ve found on their own and we now need to experience for ourselves).

A personal first for me happened last night when, coming in from the terrace, we found a pigeon inside the house.  Goodness only knows how it got into the house.  Well that’s a bit of a silly statement as clearly we know how it got in – by flying in through an open window while we were sitting on the terrace enjoying pre-dinner drinks.  So, I guess, the correct thing to wonder is “why?”.  It was my father who spotted it sitting quietly behind one of Graham’s model yachts.  I had a bit of fun scrambling around the mezzanine trying to catch it.  Predictably, it fluttered from spot to spot with me trying to be quietly in hot pursuit!  Fortunately, it wasn’t long before I had it cradled in my hands (the result of a stealth approach from the rear).  The bird proved to be surprisingly docile but, as it was banded, I suppose that it was accustomed to being handled.  I walked to a window on the street side of the house and lofted it into the air whereupon it flew the 30 feet acrosss the road to settle on Michel’s garage roof-top.  New memo to self – remember to close the windows to avoid surprise ingress of wildlife!

As satisfying as getting the house finished is,  I feel like a puppy needing praise for having done something unexpectedly well, which is stupid, as both of us are very happy with the home that we have created and don’t need approval from anyone else.  Not to say that it isn’t appreciated, of course.

Our first house guest has now arrived and the madness of a 6-week road-test of all that we have done (plus that which we have yet to complete) has begun.  The weather is beginning to cool a bit.  Well, a lot if you’re accustomed to life in the tropics, as we are.  I’m hoping that when the tail end of the remnants of Hurricane Bill have cleared the more northerly bits of Europe that we’ll be back to some better-than-decent weather, especially as we’ve so many guests arriving imminently.

The swifts have departed, much to Graham’s disappointment.  They appear to have left for warmer climes.  There are still a few house martins chasing flying insects in the airspace above the house, but nowhere near the numbers that we saw just 3 weeks ago.

Excuse me, I can hear the distinctive sounds of the recycling truck doing its early-morning rounds for glass, and there’s a box full inside the door to be put out.  It’s much easier to let them take it than have to make a run out to the décheterie (recycling centre).  So let me run downstairs and pop the box outside the front door.

Sorry, I interrupted myself.   Where was I?  Oh, that’s right ……. birds and things.  We saw the coolest thing the other morning.  We were standing on the terrace having coffee at about 7:30 one morning, watching the world wake up and a worker from the Commune undertaking some maintenance work on the cast-iron bollards that line the Quai de la Bréche in front of the house (all painted a fetching shade of hi-gloss French grey) when Graham spotted something in the river swimming upstream. “What’s that?” he asked.  I wasn’t wearing my glasses so hadn’t a hope of seeing anything more than a blob in the water so I hazarded a guess at an otter (are there otters in the rivers here?) while I went to fetch the binoculars from the sideboard.

Closer inspection revealed what appeared to be a sanglier (wild boar).  We had to wonder several things.  From whence had it come?  Why was it in the river, and to where was it trying to go?  I called down to the man on the Quai, who was also watching this rare phenomenon, and asked him what he thought it was.  He too thought it was probably a sanglier but also offered that perhaps it might be a small pig.  As the snout of the animal didn’t resemble anything close to that of a pig, but did look remarkably like that of a boar we agreed that it was a sanglier.  Sadly, we couldn’t consult with the animal in question to find out the where, how and why, so we watched him swim slowly against the current before giving up and heading towards the far bank where he stood a chance of getting out and back into the woods where he belonged.  I hope he made it.